


Soldier-Boys

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:33:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: "Some of us is soldier-boys, some of us ain't".  Or so proclaims Goniff Grainger, pickpocket, second-story man, resident mischief-maker and mother hen of Garrison's Gorillas, and the rest of the team can't disagree.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Soldier-Boys

Boomer Crane, wing man to Micah Davis, that burly, profane, oft-incomprehensible Australian team leader, sat back and watched the crowd. He'd arrived early, was waiting for the rest of his team, and had the time to spare and was in the mood to be amused by the disparity of those at the various tables.

Well, there was the big table off to the side. Reynolds' men were there, this time joined by the four from Craig Garrison's team. They were a laughing, self-congratulatory bunch, but from what Boomer had heard about that joint job they just came off of, it was a well-deserved hilarity.

At a much smaller table, two or three over from the merriment, sat Lieutenant Charles McBannon's men. There was no joy being expressed at that table, only a quiet if somewhat wary companionship. Well, their commander didn't really encourage fraternizing among his team members and they knew it. Even though they were drawn to each other, partly by adversity, partly by shared experiences, but also because they just meshed really well, still they made an effort not to show that too clearly or too often.

McBannon's small unit consisted of four men, same as Garrison's. Well, only in number, of course, not in makeup. McBannon's men were soldiers, well-trained, disciplined, quick to obey, accustomed to the military way of things. Garrison's were - well - NOT - being more what McBannon called (among other things) 'degenerate worthless riff-raff'. 

Now Reynolds' men were soldiers, too, as were Micah Davis' and Ainsley's and the others of Special Forces, but even THEY weren't the type of soldiers McBannon insisted on. Perhaps the men from those other teams weren't like Garrison's men, but they were increasingly closer to that than the small isolated table of men now watching that larger group with combined resentment and bewilderment.

Reynolds' men were drinking more than usual, and they had eager company, the four from the Mansion. Well, it had been one bitch of a mission, but they'd made it back, them AND Garrison's crew, and that was reason to celebrate. Reynolds himself was sitting back at a small table a few over, talking things over with Lieutenant Craig Garrison, both officers keeping a weather eye on their men. If the group was a little less boisterous than usual, (though certainly more than most in the room), that was understandable; not a one of them had come through unscathed, and while the booze and companionship was easing the aches and pains, they all knew they'd have an added pain in the morning from the hangover they were all courting. Garrison was nursing a few solid aches and pains of his own, as evidenced by the bruises on his face and his left arm in a sling, though he was keeping his drinking down to two shots of bad whiskey. HE had a meeting at HQ the following afternoon, and that would be painful enough without having a hangover to boot.

McBannon's men sat in the corner, discussing a few things, sending a few puzzled looks over at the men, then at the two officers, then back again.

"Heard Garrison almost didn't make it back this time, him or that con man of his. Sure looks like it, from the looks of him, the both of them," Otis commented. Well, Actor wasn't his usual dapper self, not with bearing the markings of a good going-over himself. The black eye certainly distracted from his patrician good looks.

"Krauts had them dead to rights, Reynolds and his crew already on the way to the exit, Garrison's safecracker with them due to being banged up. Doesn't make any sense, the others going back for Garrison and the con man, no sense!" Morris said fretfully. "The job was already done, wasn't it? Made no sense to risk it all for two men."

Green nodded, obviously just as bewildered, but then shrugged. 

"Probably figured they'd be in one hell of a jam coming back without the lieutenant. Probably ruin the deal they supposedly have going with the military. Not like with us - we have our orders. Well, come to think of it, maybe they do too - just not the same ones."

Lowen snorted, "probably has it in their contract - they HAVE to bring him back, no matter what it costs them. Only smart way to do it, I guess, considering who they are. Not like they're soldiers and all."

Green frowned, thinking, trying to make sense of what Lowen just said. 

"So Garrison orders them to pull his ass out of the fire if he gets stuck? Like, it's part of their deal? Okay for him, sure, not so much for them. Has to be a bitch, knowing they're supposed to risk their necks for him, but they're just left behind if it gets rough."

Otis shook his head in denial. "No, it's not that way. Don't understand it, but from what I've heard? Garrison has this - well, can't say it's a rule, as such, considering how things can go to hell. But one of the things he preaches - none of the guys are supposed to be left behind, not if there's any way around it. Garrison's even gotten himself banged up pulling one of his guys out. And his guys? They look out for each other, AND for Garrison - even heard it's happened when it all went south - when he's told them to hightail it and leave him when it got too dicey. They STILL pull him out!"

He shrugged, acknowledging the utter incomprehensibility of that whole scenario, so different than the one they worked in. 

"He's taken some heavy flak over that too, going back after one of the guys even when the job's done and he and the others could just head back to base. McBannon was talking that up earlier with some of his cronies, about how dumb that is. Well, you know what HE always says - "The mission is more important than any one man. A man is not the mission. You fall behind, that's your tough luck. Rescue is not part of our mission, so don't expect it." Hear it every time we head out, don't we?"

Lowen remarked, uneasily, taking another long look at the officers at the corner table, "the lieutenant, he's never talked about that, you know. I mean, what if it's HIM some time, not you or me. With Cody and the others, there was no question; he made that loud and clear - too bad, but that's just the way it is. You think he would expect us to leave him too? Or risk everything to pull him out?"

They looked at each other and snorted. Somehow, they just knew McBannon wouldn't have even considered himself as part of that 'no rescue' rule.

Morris snorted in wry, even bitter, amusement. "And how does Garrison get away with that? I mean, that 'all for one, one for all' crap! Like something out of a book, not real life, sure as hell not OUR life! Can't imagine any soldier would have much respect for him, doing things that way. Crosses a line, you know. Know for a fact that's what McBannon says about him. Says he's no real officer, just a pretend one, making believe til someone catches on to his game. Must have HQ laughing up their sleeves, all that nursemaiding shit."

A rough voice from behind them had them stiffening, then relaxing when they recognized one of the guys from Micah Davis' team, Boomer Crane. They weren't friends, as such, their leader not encouraging (even actively DIScouraging) such interaction, but he wasn't an enemy, anyway.

"You been working with that asshole McBannon too long, guys; aint thinking straight. Nursemaiding? Don't see it's nursemaiding to make sure your mates get back safe, for your mates to make sure you get back in one piece either. See, with our team, Davis looks out for us, we look out for him, just like we do each other. Same with Reynolds' crew, or Ainsley's. Garrison's crew - well, don't even ask them about it if you don't want a fight. We look out for each other, here and out there; that's just the way it is."

"Yeah, maybe with the guys, but the officers?" Green protested. "How can you think that way after dealing with all the shit they deal out?"

Crane shrugged, pulling up a chair without being invited, and taking a healthy swig from his mug. "Maybe because our officers aren't like the one you're stuck with. Heard about some of the 'punishment' your boss ladles out; even reaches out for some not under his command to get his jollies, though I hear he dishes it out pretty heavy closer to hand too."

He took another pull at his beer, ignoring the pained, knowing looks shared by the four at the table. Yeah, he knew they'd each been on the wrong end of some of that punishment, but no sense in rubbing it in.

"Silk's has him on the No Admittance list, you know; same with a lot of other places. The 'houses' are the same; takes too much to get him off and causes too much damage in the doing. No, ours - they aren't like that, with outsiders or with us.

"See, we get outta line, we get yelled at, maybe pull extra duty, give up a privilege or two. We don't end up under the lash, or having him have us beaten, all while he sits there watching, enjoying himself, probably giving himself what Davis calls 'a wristy."

He made a face, shook his head in disgust. "Face it, boys, your McBannon is a sick, sadistic bastard, and all I can say is I'm damned sorry for you. 

"Garrison, Reynolds, Davis, Ainsley and the rest? They're in charge, sure, but they're nothing like HIM! I'd work for ANY of THEM, anytime. Now, I'm set with Davis, and happy enough for it. HE shares out the grub if it's in short supply, the place by the stove too. One of us gets banged up, it's just as likely him pulling out the first aid, patching us up. Don't get cozy most times, but that's just his way - he's not above treating us to a round, joining in even, often as not. See, him? The others? They're officers, yeah, but they're part of the team, too."

He could tell that was a new idea for them, gave them a few specific examples, and by the time he was ready to leave, had them shaking their heads at the concept. 

He watched along with them while Garrison carefully got up with a laugh, walked over and collected his tipsy men with a good-humored "alright, let's go before I have to hire someone to carry you. With this shoulder, I sure can't do it. Chief, make sure Casino doesn't fall on his face, okay? Actor, what's the tab? My treat tonight. Goniff, hand Douggie back his watch; that's the third time you've tipped it since you've sat down, if not more. Yeah, it's pretty; give it back and we'll see if we can't find you one just as pretty for your birthday." 

They listened to the laughter that got, the good-natured smack on the side of the head Douggie gave the pickpocket, getting a not overly remorseful grin in return as a shiny gold watch on a chain was dangled over the table, and shook their heads. None of that made any sense to them. No sense at all!

In one accord, they resolved to ask Garrison's crew a few questions, the next time they saw the men out without the officer in attendance. Surely Boomer Crane had it wrong!

But it seems he didn't have it wrong, even if Goniff's explanation caused them to shake their heads even more.

"Sure, 'e says that. Oh, not about us, but about 'imself. For US, 'e's right there making sure we make it back, even if we DO get in a jam. 'E gets caught by the short 'airs, though, we're supposed to skeddadle, like Casino says, don't bother with 'im, just get ourselves back 'ere in one piece. Trouble with that is, sometimes we don't listen so good. And sometimes? Sometimes we forget, you see, that 'e AINT one of us, AINT one of the regular guys. See, some of us is trained to be soldier-boys; some of us ain't. And us, well, w'at can I tell you?"

{"They sometimes FORGET he's not 'one of the guys'?? How the hell does that happen? What the HELL is there about this Garrison that would ever let them even come close to that??!"}

And none of McBannon's men, even after listening and then discussing it for hours, could come close to figuring that out, especially not with McBannon delivering that lecture once again, after delivering his own variety of punishment for them supposedly being late getting back from their evening. Of course, according to their watches, all four of them, they had five minutes to spare, but McBannon didn't see it that way. Seems HIS watch was the only one he was going to go by, and IT said they were late, five minutes no different than five hours by his reckoning. Each of them, over the next several hours, took time to think about that conversation with Boomer Crane and also the other one, the one with Garrison's men. 

No, they just didn't understand how you could 'forget' your commanding officer wasn't 'one of the guys', just didn't get it! THEY sure as hell weren't likely to forget!

And as far as Garrison's guys were concerned, McBannon's crew likely never WOULD get it. 

"Well, with McBannon running the show, can't blame them for not understanding how it don't have to be that way," Casino acknowledged.

Chief nodded, "damn shame the McBannon's seem to outnumber the Garrison's, though, don't it?"

Well, no one could argue with that.

A month later -  
Lieutenant McBannon was in that mood, one where, as soon as they realized, his own team disappeared into the woodwork just as soon as they were dismissed. 

They knew all too well what could happen when the major got what Green called 'itchy'. Bad things just seemed to go along with that mood and they were smart enough to want no part of it. Green, Otis, Lowen, Morris - they had all experienced the lieutenant's 'discipline', though each only once before making it their firm resolve on making sure not to fall under his gaze again. That experience, plus seeing what had been dished out to their teammates, that had been more than enough. 

Of course, before them, there had been others on the team - each, as they'd been swallowed up by the war, quickly replaced by another soldier, trained to obey orders. They had each experienced McBannon's temperament as well, though no longer there to bear witness.

Green had been with McBannon the longest, had eyes that held far more shadows than even the war could account for. Sometime he even envied Brown and Faversham, two of those lost team members - a hurriedly-arranged enemy firing squad was at least quick. The others, of course - Cody and Lewis, and that ride-along - he didn't know how they bought it eventually, what they went through before they died, so he wasn't so ready to change places with them. But Brown? Faversham? Yeah, there were nights where he thought about that, a lot.

So, when McBannon got that hungry look, started licking his lips in anticipation, looking around for someone to appease that need, his men, the ones he commanded, were nowhere to be seen.

Unfortunately, Garrison's team had just rolled into town on a twenty-four hour pass, just in time to catch McBannon's hungry eyes. The MP's had no reason to doubt their orders; they were soldiers, used to being commanded by an officer, knew what was expected of them.

*

"There has been no food, just a pail of water, for two days, Craig. We were locked in, heavily guarded; there was no chance for getting away, even for scavanging. Still they came here, pulled Goniff out, swore he'd been seen stealing food. McBannon was issuing out orders for punishment - a night outside, chained to the pole in the center of the compound - AFTER being dowsed with a pail of water! Goniff just jabbered on about how unfair that was, us not even being given anything to eat in the first place, and NO WAY he could have gotten out to steal any - that none of us could. But Chief stepped in, trying to get them away from Goniff. Told them to punish him instead if they were so set on it - that he at least had been THINKING about making a try for it, even if none of us had managed it.

"McBannon just stood there, then nodded, told the guards to take Chief TOO; that they BOTH deserved punishment, whether Chief for stealing, Goniff for not admitting the truth, or Goniff stealing and Chief lying for him. For a moment I thought he was going to include Casino and myself, for having partaken of the mythical stolen spoils, and he dropped a hint or two in that direction, especially after we protested so heavily. But in the end, he seemed to think it was more appropriate, them being outside knowing we were dry and at least somewhat warm, us knowing they were freezing out there. The guards were armed; we could do nothing without damaging them or ourselves, and that seemed only to be compounding the issue. 

"My understanding, from what I could see through the window, he had a chair and table brought to him, there in the overhang, along with a bottle and glass. He sat there, bundled in a coat and scarf, watching them be chained, them taking blows when they didn't cooperate as fast as the guards wanted. He personally threw the buckets of water over them, laughed, and went back to sit there. He was laughing, when he wasn't making other sounds of pleasure, and didn't leave for over an hour. We kept after the guards, to get them down, get them back in here, but they were afraid of disobeying his orders. It seems highly-unpleasant things happen when his orders are disobeyed, and I can see that would be the case. Eventually, when they tired of us and our voices, they closed the shutters to the outside to where we couldn't see Chief and Goniff anymore, shut the metal doors blocking off the cell from the guards' station.

"Craig, as cold as it was in here last night, and I assure you it was quite cold - to be outside, dripping wet . . ." Actor's face, Casino's, showed the shelter of the cell had proved little or no comfort to them, not with knowing Chief and Goniff were out there.

Garrison was beside himself with rage. He'd been angry when his men didn't return from their allotted time in London, hadn't even called with some flimsy excuse. When his searching turned up the fact that they'd been snatched up by the MP's for being AWOL, with not even a call to Garrison to back up their quite-legitimate story of being on leave, his anger had increased. But whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been this! In fact, it had taken hours to find out where they were being held, the man on the other end of the phone call having been oddly vague about that. 

"Originally the stockade at Meyers Lane, but I believe they might have been moved. I really couldn't say. I imagine you'll be hearing from wherever they landed, eventually, Lieutenant Garrison. Dreadful mistake, of course, if they really WERE given leave, but these things do happen. Easy enough to understand, surely, especially with your men. It seems they gave Lieutenant McBannon some ill-advised back-talk, which did not go down well."

That was delivered in far too much of a smug tone for Garrison's liking, and that little mostly-hidden chuckle had hit every damned one of his buttons!

Now, finally locating Actor and Casino, being told Chief and Goniff were in the side yard, had been there all night - that did absolutely nothing for his temper. Quickly gathering his two men, pushing past the reluctant but obedient guards (obedient at least in the face of an irate officer), the three hurried out through a side door, only to be shocked to a sudden halt.

There, in the early morning light, hair still stiff and frosted with the results of being dowsed with water after being chained to the center post, leaned the remaining two from their team. The chains were too short for them to sit, much less lay down, not that the frozen ground would have proven any real comfort except as rest for their weary limbs; the best they could manage was to stretch as far as they could in order to lean against each other, using the pole to try and keep from letting the manacles tear into their skin. From the brown streaks on their tunic sleeves and hands, that hadn't been enough; one moment of inadvertent dozing would bring an almost fall, and even the bracing of the other's body wasn't enough to prevent the cold metal cuffs from grabbing, sometimes breaking through the skin.

A quick harsh demand for the key, the unrelenting glare brought the guards to a quick realization that trying to delay, waiting for the one who'd ordered this, was NOT a good idea. No, McBannon probably wouldn't be happy, but the word was him and his team were scheduled for another job later in the day, so they decided to deal with the angry officer in their faces before worrying about the other not yet visible.

"Casino, can you manage Chief? If so, Actor, you get the car warmed up. It's right outside," Garrison ordered, as he manoeuvred a stumbling Goniff toward the exit. The guards, silent, knowing they were going to catch hell for letting the four go, but knowing they'd better not be trying to step in front of this outraged officer right now, stood back, one even holding that gate open silently as the men passed through.

"We've got to report that you took them, Lieutenant. We have our orders," the Sergeant of the Guard said uncomfortably. "Lieutenant McBannon left strict instructions . . ."

Garrison's response was less a spoken answer than a snarl that would have been worthy coming from a wolverine, one that had the guard stepping back quickly and coming to attention, snapping a quick, even respectful salute. Well, he was a soldier; he recognized an order even when it was issued in that inarticulate manner.

"Casino, you drive, get us to the hospital -". 

"No, Actor does the driving. He's impressive enough to con anyone trying to stop us, Warden," Casino protested, and after one look into those dark eyes, that tight grip the safecracker had on Chief, Garrison nodded.

"Alright. Actor, don't get us pulled over, but get us there fast."

But that wasn't to be. As soon as they got within sight, it was obvious the word had spread and there was a contingent of MP's outside. The link between the team and that particular hospital wasn't brunted about, so it was probably a wide-spread search going on. Yes, McBannon had been thorough in his orders, and just as obviously, Garrison didn't frighten those MP's nearly as much as McBannon did.

Garrison thought for a moment, then nodded firmly. 

"Actor, remember how to get to Odellinn? I don't think they'll turn us away, and it's a hell of a lot closer than heading back home or to the Cottage. Hell, they probably have MP's at the Mansion too, or will have soon enough."

At the vigorous clanging of that bell outside the tall entry gates, Renaldo welcomed them, hurried to get the car out of sight, them directed to the bedroom in back of the kitchen, promising hot water bottles as soon as water could be heated.

A hurried explanation, including why they hadn't taken the men to Patrick and James at the little hospital the Clan sponsored, had the two hosts exchanging a careful look. Garrison was pretty sure there would be a fast call being made, just to confirm they hadn't somehow found themselves at odds with the Clan itself. Yes, Dolores and Renaldo knew them, but Odellinn belonged to the Clan, they answered to the Clan, first and foremost. Well, Garrison couldn't blame them, didn't fault them, especially since the care and comfort of his men was in no way delayed by that act of caution.

"I know it's cold in here, but the allottment of fuel for the boiler hasn't arrived. We are using the small room on the other side of the kitchen to conserve heat. And it's far colder upstairs, where we'd normally settle you. There's the two beds, large enough for two each to use, if need be - there's extra mattresses we can use to make a third on the floor. Dolores is stoking the fire, doing what she can about hot water bottles and bricks. I'll get more blankets and the aid kit," Renaldo told them as he quickly threw back the covers on the two beds. 

"Get them out of those wet clothes and dried off, and under covers. Actor, if you help me, we could do more, faster. Lieutenant, we will be back in as soon as we can."

Renaldo and Actor disappeared at a quick trot, leaving the door open to absorb any possible heat from the kitchen stove, now being coaxed into full roar by Dolores.

Garrison, seeing Goniff's damp lashes and hair, the frost now melted, quickly undressed the shivering Englishman, noting his cramped fingers, his feet with toes blue with cold. Wrapping the Englishman in the warm covers, he quickly moved to gently massage Goniff's feet and hands to get the circulation going. He winced, feeling Goniff flinch, hearing that tiny inhaling of protest, knowing he was hurting the other man, but knowing it was necessary.

Casino watched, heard that muffled moan but trusted Garrison knew what he was doing. He was quick to follow suit with Chief, getting him stripped, and dried and rolled in under the sheets and covers. 

"Hey, kid, don't worry. I've got ya," he said in a low gruff voice, trying to keep it from cracking with emotion. 

He had heard the stories about Chief's early days, knew he had experienced this before, punishment by exposure to the elements. The cold, the wet? Casino knew that brought back memories, feelings the younger man dreaded. 

Goniff? Well, some of his stories were damned harrowing as well, involving searching for shelter from the cold and wet even when he was just a little kid, what with that bastard that was married to Goniff's mum thinking that being shut out in the weather was a fit punishment, and quite a bit else. To Goniff, extreme cold was his own personal hell, maybe as much as it was Chief's. 

Neither of them needed this! What they both needed . . . What they needed . . . What the hell DID they need that the rescuers could provide and provide quickly enough??! Casino was pretty sure his first impulse - punching a hole in the wall with his clenched fist - wouldn't really be helpful, but it's what he really, really wanted to do.

Casino watched as Garrison leaned in to breath warm air over Goniff's fingers and toes, then as, with a frustrated huff, the officer opened his jacket and shirt, moved close to tuck those frozen lower extremities against his own warm skin, hold them there to gather whatever warmth he could provide. Casino knew he should understand the low voice, the words, but he couldn't, maybe didn't really want to. HE sure wasn't gonna be saying anything soppy! But the action? 

{"Yeah, that could work,"} and Casino hurried to do the same, wincing as the twin chunks of ice hit his midriff. Gasping to regain his breath, he offered the only thing he could think of to say, something that WOULDN'T sound soppy. Bad enough those words, those thoughts were flooding his brain, making it hard for him to think. 

"Just lay back, kid - I gotcha, I promise. You'll be okay. You GOTTA be okay, you hear me! Don't go pissin' me off by arguing!" and Casino thought he saw the slightest twitch on that drawn face. Then the faintest of whispers, "yeah, Pappy. I know. You got me, right? Just don't drop me, okay?"

"Damned straight!" he replied, not even caring now that his voice was breaking. His voice, right along with his heart, not that he was ever going to say THAT out loud!

The advent of Dolores with hot water bottles and heated bricks wrapped in flannel quickly changed the scene, as did the return of Renaldo and Actor with two thin rolled mattresses and heaps of blankets and a first aid kit.

"You have the right idea, Lieutenant," Dolores said approvingly, seeing those determined efforts at warming the two men. "But, if I might suggest, you're not going far enough. You and Casino, strip down as far as you can, fit yourselves around them to the back, share your own body heat. I'll tuck in the water bottles and hot bricks and we'll get you all covered nicely. I imagine you two will get overly warm before long, but it's what will help them most, so stay in place as long as you can bear it."

She cast a questioning eye over at Actor, not knowing the dynamics of the team, not sure she'd set things up best. "Unless Actor . . ."

The tall Italian looked at Casino and Garrison hurrying to comply, and shook his head. "No, Dolores, it is best as you say. They will all be more comfortable this way, I believe. Now, what else can we do?" 

And after helping Renaldo with the heaping covers, helped to clean and bandage their torn flesh, he returned to the kitchen with their hosts, there to chop vegetables for the soup Dolores was preparing, ladling out the spoonsful of the dried herbal tea she pulled from a canister on the shelf, "for countering the effects of exposure to the cold on the lungs. Meghada's sister puts it together every season."

It was a good three hours before Casino and Garrison came into the kitchen, buttoning their jackets, but with matching expressions of satisfaction on their faces.

"Yes, they're sleeping; finally warm head to toe, seem to be breathing fine," Garrison assured the others. Sitting at the table, gratefully accepting the offered cup of coffee they finally relaxed, trying to let their minds deal with all that had happened. While no one wanted to ask, exactly, they did wonder what Garrison's next move would be. They couldn't exactly spend the rest of the war tucked into that bedroom. Well, perhaps they COULD, but none of them could see it happening. They discussed various things, none of them particularly relevant, more as a way of passing time than anything else.

Chief woke slowly, stretched carefully to make sure everything was still operational. Other than pain in his bandaged wrists, he seemed to be at least okay, if not great.

He opened his eyes to see Goniff curled like a blond hedgehog in the other bed. He snickered, absently wondering if that was why Meghada needed such a huge bed - even with that wide structure sometimes holding three bodies, still there should have been a lot of room to spare. "But not if he always sleeps like that, I guess," he muttered in amusement.

The tousled head lifted, squinting eyes opening to peer at Chief warily. "You say something, Chiefy?"

Chief huffed, still only half-awake. "Nothing important. Was just thinking - wondering, you know. Meghada says you smell like mint and musk and sage. She's right, I figure; when we were out there, all huddled together in the cold, I could tell that. Said you taste like tobacco and tea and whiskey and strawberries and honey, too - gotta say I didn't pick up on that. Acourse, no reason I should've either. Still, makes me wonder."

Goniff leaned up a little farther, curious, since Chief didn't usually go asking too much personal. "So? W'at does that 'ave you wondering?"

Now that huff was louder, amusement mixed with curiousity. "Well, if that's what YOU'RE like, what is SHE like? And what is HE like? Or can you pick up that stuff like she can?"

Now those blue eyes were twinkling with return amusement. 

"Not the same way she does, but in a way, maybe. Least 'ow I think of them is something like. Now, 'Gaida, she's simple enough. See, she 'as this big patch in the 'erb garden, back outta the way of everything else cause she says they are 'eadstrong and aggressive, real barbarians, like 'er and the Clan. The ones she calls artemesias - there's that grey wormwood, and the green feathery Southernwood and the one with the funny-shaped leaves, the one she calls Sweet Annie. Love wandering back there, running my 'and over the tops, especially on a warm day when the scent comes storming up like it's trying to fill you, top to bottom. Gets my mind 'eaded in a lovely direction. That's 'Gaida, you see - lovely under 'and, rich and tingly and spicy to the nose, same in the taste but with a dash of good bourbon and just a hint of sweet under it all. Satisfying, you know?? Like a full meal of all your favorites after being without all too long."

Chief blinked, thinking that description might TAKE some thinking to figure out. But still he persisted.

"So, okay, that's Meghada. But what about the Warden?"

There was a pause, then a slow smile that spoke of remembering somehow, but then his words told Chief that was exactly what it was - remembering. Whether it was relevant or not, that was something else.

"Worked a job once, years ago, some big 'ouse where they were planning a big party for Boxing Day. A month earlier, they'd got out three nice-sized casks, put in a few inches of some of the darkest rum I've ever seen, then stirred in some black treacle. Dumped in a whole bunch of cherries cut in 'alf, and a pile of raisins, even some chopped up 'azelnuts and more. Filled them clear to the top with more of that good rum. Every day or so, the butler would go in to stir it all together and hook the tops back on tight. 'E was the only one they trusted, 'im being a Methodist and swearing 'e'd never touch anything of the sort. Don't know 'ow 'e 'eld back - sometimes, towards the end, w'en 'e'd be doing the stirring, the smell would just fill the whole kitchen, and those casks were all the way in the next room!"

There was a long pause while Goniff remembered all that. Chief shook his head, wondering where this was going, or maybe if Goniff had taken more damage than he thought. But then, in that way the pickpocket had of circling around a subject, he brought it back home.

"Come a couple days before Boxing Day, those casks were all strained through cheesecloth, and the rum poured back into the barrels and the other stuff thrown out. Then, on the morning of the party, the rum got put in this big black kettle over the fire, real low as not to burn off the 'ead, and more raisins were dropped in, and some more cut-up fruit, but this time not the common kind from the markets, but straight off the ships - oranges and pineapple, lemons and such. Coo, the smell 'ad a little of everything in it, but all adding up to just the one special thing it now was, you know? They served it up 'ot, with thin slices of lemon floating on top." 

"Don't suppose they let you taste it?" Chief asked, curious himself at such a concoction.

Goniff snorted, "acourse not!" Then a sly smile crossed his face, "acourse, don't mean I didn't, just that they didn't go out of their way to INVITE me."

He lay there smiling, remembering.

"Goniff?" Chief prodded, and Goniff remembered what had started his reminiscing.

"Oh, yeah. Well, that's what 'e's like, Chiefy. Complicated, layer on layer on layer, all turning into something totally different - 'intoxicating' as Actor would say - a layering of sweet and tangy and rich and more that you can't even put a name to, something that could set your 'ead reeling with just a sample or two. Least," and that smile turned gleefully wicked,"always sets MINE doing that."

"So, between the two . . . ." Chief started, not quite sure what he was asking, but figuring Goniff was the only one he knew in quite that situation, the only one he was close enough to, so was the only one TO ask. Maybe if he kept the question vague enough, the answer would help some with everything he was wondering.

Goniff let his head fall back against the pillow, let out a low laugh of total satisfaction. "Know some of those fancy meals Actor keeps talking about? - the one running from all kinds of little starter bits through all the different courses and all kinds of wines and such, with lots of sweet things for afters? That's w'at it's like between the two. Well, sort of. Acourse, if it really WAS that, most likely I'd weigh ten times w'at I do now. Most likely be worth it, though. Yeah, be worth it rightly enough."

It was then Craig Garrison stuck his head in the door, drawn by that low bark of laughter from Chief, an uncommon sound at any time, but totally unexpected after the time they'd had.

He gave the smugly grinning Goniff and the helplessly laughing Chief {"trust Goniff to put the whole thing in terms of food!"} a suspicious look. 

"Should I ask?" only to get fervent protests that, no, he shouldn't, not really. 

That look of suspicion got even deeper, but then Garrison suggested, "Dolores has dinner almost ready. You hungry?"

He never did understand that, the now-shared hilarity coming from the two beds, but figured he was probably better off that way, especially with that totally inappropriate waggle of Goniff's brows, that warmly appreciative look his pickpocket was giving him. The fact that he could feel himself blushing just didn't help!

Yes, much later, once the team was gathered safely around that kitchen table happily spooning up Dolores' excellent soup, discussing the whole matter, Garrison had girded himself to headback to HQ. 

It hadn't taken much before the whole mess about the leave was straightened out, but that was only the beginning. Garrison marched up to a certain desk and filed charges against Major McBannon. His reception was no more than luke-warm, much to his disgust, his complaints taken down but no promises made. 

He and his men were back at the Mansion, had been for several days, him considering his next move when he heard the news. It seems Major McBannon was not available to answer for his actions, even if the Brass had any intention of doing so.

*  
The battered and bruised men of McBannon's team were all stone-faced while facing the questioning. Well, coming back from a mission without your commanding officer was something HQ WOULD take notice of, would want an explanation for.

Morris, senior in duration with the team, acted as spokesman, told of the mission accomplished, but an exit gone wrong. "And Major McBannon was captured, and according to our contact, soon thereafter executed."

"According to your contact, not your first hand observation. I see no mention of your trying to rescue him."

"No, sir. As I said, he was captured. To attempt a rescue would have been to risk the exit plan," Green stated calmly.

That brought a frown to the board's joint faces. There was something just a little too matter-of-fact about that statement to please them. The one in the center pressed the subject.

"Still, Lieutenant Garrison managed to make it back from a very similar situation a few weeks ago, if I remember correctly. If HIS team was able to retrieve him, I find it hard to believe YOUR team was not equally as adept. Yet, it would appear you made no such attempt."

No, the three officers sitting behind the long desk were not pleased, but somehow, not as adamant as they might have been. If they hadn't known better, the team might have thought this 'interview' was more a formality than anything else.

Morris blinked, gave the tiniest of frowns as if puzzling over what had just been said.

"Sir, begging your pardon, but Lieutenant McBannon was hardly Lieutenant Garrison - nothing alike! Not that I mean any offense to Lieutenant Garrison, of course, but Lieutenant McBannon was a real by-the-book officer! He expected the men under his command to follow his orders, to the letter! We are NOT like Lieutenant Garrison's men. WE are soldiers. THEY aren't, as they will be the first to admit. We LISTEN when our officer gives us an order. We listen, we obey."

And then he repeated, no expression at all on his face. 

"The Lieutenant's orders were quite clear, sirs; he repeated them every time we went out so there was no mistake of his intentions. According to Lieutenant McBannon - We were to get the job done. That losses were unfortunate, but expected. We were not to allow ourselves to be affected by those losses or the potential for such losses. That we were not to go back or in any way jeopardize the mission or the exit in order to save one man, or even two or more. We are not Search and Rescue, he always said. It was each man's job to be sure he didn't get in the position of NEEDING rescue. No one man is more important than the mission! - Every mission he told us that, in no uncertain terms. That's what he always said, sir. A direct order, no mistake."

The three senior officers on the bench looked at each other, uncomfortably aware that while that was most likely true, considering McBannon's reputation, still there was something just a little neck-ruffling to have it parroted back so coldly, so professionally, especially when the eyes of the four men were just as cold and professional.

After a brief consultation, the senior officer nodded, and after a few words, dismissed them.

"Very well. Perhaps instead of assigning you a new team leader immediately, we might reassign each of you to another one of the existing teams. We'll think about that, and you might give some consideration to that as well, at least on a temporary basis. See Lieutenant Goring if you have any idea of where you might best fit. It might be only temporary, but it will give you a place while we consider the matter of a more permanent location."

While that offer was unusual in and of itself, there was something about those four calm, cool and collected faces that made the officers think it might be best to have them split up for awhile.

Later, sharing a much needed drink at Silk's, Green asked, "you couldn't think of anything better to say, Morris? I mean, it was the truth and all, but still . . ."

Otis just shrugged, "he's right. Remember what one of Garrison's men said, when we asked if they never got the lecture, about how no one man is more important than the mission? Still remember it, clear as day. "Oh, we get it, right enough. Not so much about us, but about 'im. But, see, that's the difference between you and us. YOU'VE got McBannon; WE'VE got Garrison. YOU'RE good soldier boys, we - well, we aint. Sometimes, we don't listen so good; sometimes we forget." 

Morris took a deep chug from his glass, held it up to the light and mused about the recent events. He decided he needed to explain it to his team mates, nice and clear.

"I should think McBannon would be pleased enough with how we handled it - just like he kept telling us - no one man is more important than the mission. 

"I remember him giving us that lecture, every damned mission. Remember him giving it to us after we lost Brown and Cody, AND Lewis, then Faversham. After that ride-along didn't make it back. Even when Otis here walked into trouble THIS time. 

"Remember how McBannon yelled when he found out we'd stopped and circled back to pick 'Clumsy' here up from that kraut check-point? Said we were forgetting who we were supposed to be. Reminded us we weren't that 'damned Garrison's' team. That he wasn't that 'damned Garrison'! Said, we disobey him again and he'd have us all in the stockade, up on charges for insubordination! Then he repeated that lecture all over again. No one man, remember? Rescue is not the mission, remember? It's up to every man to make sure he didn't get in a position to NEED rescuing, remember?? 

"Well, we got the job done, well enough. So he was the one man who walked into trouble not long after, when we came up against that kraut patrol - the one who ended up in the ditch. Good thing it was so soon after that lecture, so we didn't have any trouble remembering what he told us.

"Like I said, think he'd be pleased we listened to him so well, don't you? Didn't try to rush in and pull him out before he bought it. Nope, WE remembered we're proper soldiers, not riff-raff like Garrison's crew."

Green gave Morris a long look and then a slight huff escaped him.

"Actually, no, Morris, I don't think he would be all that pleased."

Lowen snorted, trying manfully not to let it turn into a laugh. "Come on, guys. Let's have another drink. You think Garrison or Davis or one of the other teams could use some extra shoulders at the wheel?? Might be interesting to see how the 'not a soldier-boy' guys get the job done. Might be interesting to see how an officer can make you forget he's not 'one of the guys'. Maybe, next time, they'll give us someone a little more like Garrison or one of the rest. Maybe, with a little effort, a little luck, even us 'soldier-boys' could find a place with someone like that."

And with that hopeful thought, they raised their glasses in a salute to the world and its differences - soldier-boys and those NOT-soldier-boys, though they left the McBannons of the world out of that salute.


End file.
